


we were born with fire and gold in our eyes

by insomniabug



Series: Smol & Tol drabbles [11]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Napoleon's voice makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 22:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15917850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomniabug/pseuds/insomniabug
Summary: the one with the (tragic) space AU





	we were born with fire and gold in our eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zombeesknees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombeesknees/gifts).



> I'm dealing with my own emotional feelings, so of course that manifests into crushing angst and deflection.
> 
> Enjoy!

Shrill alarms pierce the silence.

Illya looks across the cabin at Gaby. He doesn’t know much about the actual mechanics of the ship, knowing he’s only there to be the insurance policy for his employer’s shareholders, but he knows enough to be slightly worried.

“Those are the pressure sensors. Why are the pressure sensors ringing?”

“Because the pressure is dropping.” He’s slightly offended when she doesn’t notice his glare. Ever since he stepped onto her ship, because despite his company's logo on the side it was her ship, she has managed to defy his every mandate. It was doubly frustrating because not only was he a man not used to being disobeyed, but he was also finding himself developing real feelings for this tiny ex-prima ballerina turned space engineer.

Feelings are a death sentence. He’s seen too many missions go south because one party was unable to make the difficult sacrifice for the greater good.

The distant crackle of Napoleon’s voice comes across the comm link. “And why is the pressure dropping? Gaby, isn’t it your job to make sure that doesn’t happen?”

Red tinges his vision just from the mere sound of the American’s voice. The urge to smash his fist into the communications dashboard is overwhelming, but he’s pretty sure Gaby would not appreciate him destroying their only link to the rest of civilization. So he becomes a silently seething giant and begins erratically tapping his fingers against his thigh. (He hates how easily Solo is able to call her by her first name, while he has been repeatedly reminded to call her Captain when he’s tried to do the same.)

“Solo, remind me, what exactly is your job? Other than being a Western mercenary pain in my ass?” Gaby says into the comms link. Illya holds back a smile, feeling slightly embarrassed with relief at her sharp insult. Lieutenant Napoleon Solo annoys her just as much as he annoys him.

"Sweetheart, I'm here to make sure you don't end up blasting yourself to kingdom come."

“Gee, thanks. My two doctorates and five year impeccable flight record wouldn’t be able to do it without you." She replies dryly, if also somewhat distractedly. Illya watches her do an all systems check. He doesn’t like the growing frown on her face as she stares at one monitor in particular.

"Shit," she mutters. She points to a dark cluster of dots, not realizing he has no idea what she's pointing to. "Right there."

"Would you like to enlighten the rest of the class _Fräulein_?" Solo crackles.

"Yes, what is the problem?" Illya asks.

Gaby looks at him, and for once she's not glaring at him. That itself has him worried.

"There's a meteor shower headed in our direction."

"So we change direction." He replies.

"I agree with Peril." Illya really dislikes this American and his penchant for nicknames. Gaby shakes her head.

"We can't. There's a hole in our outer hull, which is what's causing the pressure loss, and we can't move until it's been repaired."

Illya visibly starts at that. He knows what she’s planning to say before she even says it, and his stomach immediately drops. His hand lands on her impossibly slender wrist.  She doesn’t immediately shake him off, which causes his dread to skyrocket to alarming levels.

"You can't go out there. You just said that-“

"I know what I said. But if I don't fix that hole, we're dead."

Gaby shakes him off and rushes out of her chair, walking in the direction of the departure dock. Illya immediately tries following her, cursing the seatbelt that takes too long to release. By the time he catches up to her, she’s changing into a spacewalk suit. If he hadn’t been so anxious about her wellbeing, he would’ve normally blushed at the sight of her body in the formfitting leotard worn beneath the suit.

"I'll go.” He says.

She pulls her hair up in a tight ponytail and then steps into the tough outer husk of the suit. She barely glances at him, but he hears her scoff under her breath.

"I hope you're not about to start with that macho nonsense of taking my place just because I'm a woman."

"It's dangerous.” She continues ignoring him, starting her pre-departure checks.  Instead of his usual red haze, he’s starting to feel lightheaded. Almost like his vision is tunneling as he watches her.

 **Oxygen**. _Check_.  
**UV shields**. _Check_.  
**Thrusters**. _Check_.

"This entire mission is dangerous. That isn't going to stop me from doing my job."

"You can tell me what to do. Talk me through it.” He's aware of the desperate tone in his voice, but he oddly doesn't care. Lack of self-preservation - his mandated psychologist’s voice reverberates in his head. 

"It would take more time to explain everything and time is something we don't have." She grabs her helmet and walks towards the airlock chamber. "I've set the ship to immediately change course once I've finished repairing the hull and the pressure normalizes. You are under no circumstance to touch anything. Captain's orders."

“What about you?”

“Best case scenario: I have four minutes between repair time and getting back to the airlock before the ship’s thrusters go full blast. Worst case…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but instead looks straight up at him, and he’s not prepared for what he sees in her eyes.

For two years, they’ve been reluctant colleagues. Always butting heads, always arguing ideologies and methods, with Solo occasionally having to step in before they start breaking equipment.

She infuriates him to no end, and she knows exactly what buttons to press to make him see red.

But then there are slivers of moments, small enough to fit on the head of nail, that tilt the axis of his world completely. Her calloused fingers against his cheek, puffs of hot breath against his neck, fevered lips pushing and tugging…

_…the gentle whimper she makes as he moves inside her._

Illya starts at her current touch, her hand clutching the fist he’s making at his side. She shuts off her communicator, and reaches up to shut his off as well. The lost signal will immediately broadcast down to headquarters, and he can almost hear Solo’s cursing from all the way up here.

“Illya,” the sound of his name is never a good sign, “I have to do this. And I need you to accept it. This is the job we signed up for."

His throat feels dry, his stomach starts rolling. “You are saying this as though you are…”

“…saying goodbye?” She finishes for him, her fist tightened around his fingers. She might be the bravest person he’s ever met, but he can also see the tendrils of fear growing in her eyes.

He opens his mouth, not knowing what to say, but he’s interrupted by the sudden appearance of red warning lights flooding around them. The ship is losing precious time.

They silently stare at each other, then, like a lightning strike, they move.

She immediately crushes him against her, standing on her tiptoes, neck strained upwards. His neck is pulled roughly downward, her fingers digging painfully into the back of his neck, as their lips crash together. His long arms wrap around her middle, lifting her a foot off the ground against him. He curses the suit she's wearing, preventing him from feeling the full sensation of her body.

It’s not a sweeping romantic kiss, but a kiss of unsaid promises, unrealized futures and lifetimes. This kiss is pain incarnate.

It’s forever and it’s never.

Before he knows it, Gaby forcibly pushes him away, turning for the airlock and locking it.

The alarms continue blaring, red warning lights coloring his vision as he stares at the empty space she's left behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Fire n Gold" by Bea Miller


End file.
